Daughter of Orion
DAUGHTER OF ORION
Alfred D. Byrd
Daughter of Orion
Alfred D. Byrd
Copyright 2009 Alfred D. Byrd.
Some Rights Reserved.
This novel is released under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License. This means you are free to share (copy, distribute, display, and perform) this book as long as you leave the attribution (author credit) intact, make no modifications, and do not profit from its distribution. For complete license information visit
https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This is my own take on the concept of super-powered aliens from a lost world learning to live among us "earth-humans." I freely acknowledge that elements of this work were inspired by the television series Roswell and Smallville, and by the ultimate source of inspiration for tales of super-powered aliens from a lost world, the incomparable tales of the People by Zenna Henderson, most recently collected in Ingathering: The Complete People Stories of Zenna Henderson (Nesfa Press, 1995).
In the words of Mirabelle Gordon, born Mira Das-Es:
On a barren expanse of desert in northern Utah, under Thil-i An Om, 'The Stars of the Great Crystal-Shaper,' which the earth-humans call Orion, the eight of us sent to the earth from a dying world have met as a group for the first time. In the golden glow of a circle of bil-i lus, light-crystals, I look at seven faces turned towards me.
The faces have a sameness owing to their unearthly origin. Framed by hair of strawberry blond, they're round and as pale as moonlight, with full lips, short, tip-tilted noses, and wide-set eyes of aquamarine. The seven faces look for guidance to me, at nineteen years of the earth the oldest of the eight.
In a soft voice, Par-On, the youngest, my intended, speaks to me. "We're here, Mira, to learn of our past and of our future together. Only you know the full story of those times. Tell us what we need to know."
I nod, but pause before I start the night's activities. Although it's I who'll tell the others what they need to know, it'll be Par who'll tell them and me what we must do. I look at a long object, wrapped in silk, by his feet. How far that object has come to be here tonight! It'll be my story's end.
To my surprise, Dala, the shy one, breaks in. "Yes, Mira, tell us! You know that I've run all of the way from South Carolina to be here tonight."
To no surprise of mine, Kuma, a born fighter, sneers at Dala. "Poor baby! Do your footsies hurt you? Maybe, you should lie down while the rest of us celebrate the festival."
Some of the others laugh. Dala is about to protest when I say, "Hush!" I feel relief when everyone else hushes and turns his or her eyes back to me. "In a few days," I go on to say, "the Message will come. When it does, we must be ready to do the Work for which our people sent us here.
"As part of the Work, we must recall who we are. Tonight, we're here to reenact a festival that the Tan, our people, did on the Homeworld whenever these stars" -- I point at Orion's Belt and Sword -- "dominated the night sky. The Tan sang, danced, and retold the tale of its origin. Does each of you recall the words of the song that I taught you?"
Seven heads nod. As I start to sing of a crystal-ship that brought three lives to a world now lost, seven voices join my voice. Both Dala and Lona, the mystic, have the song's words down. Kuma and the four boys, though, stumble over the words, which they sing in an accent of the American English that's filled their mouths for the past nearly fourteen years. Still, the eight of us are singing together, as those who sent us here meant for us to sing. We'll get better, I promise myself.
The dance, I believe, will go better than the song went. I've shown everyone else the festival's bil kel-al, its memory-crystal, to fix in his or her mind the steps that as couples and as a community we eight must do. I regret our lack of musicians to play traditional bone-flutes, harps, and drums for the dance. The instruments must lie in Par's hidden chambers till a future beyond the Work. Tonight, we dancers must hear the crystal's music in our minds. Maybe, when we have children…
Rising, each of us girls exchanges bows with her intended: shy Dala with solid, trustworthy Van-Dor; mystical Lona with wise, artistic Sil-Tan; fierce Kuma with dour, brooding Un-Thor; I with Par, a mystery to me. Born to rule us all, he's a stranger to us all. We must learn who he is before the Message comes.
Each boy and girl spins around each other, and then parts from his or her partner. We spin faster than any earth-human can spin; we leap higher than any earth-human can leap. We come together as couples, and then join hands in a ring of eight.
The dance's message is clear to me. The Tan, the People, is born as individuals who come together as couples, and these come together as the community. The dance tells the Tan's story for seven thousand years on Ul, the Homeworld, till it ended, sending just eight lives to a world indescribably strange to them.
Dance over, the eight of us sit in a circle for the telling of the tale of origin. Again, seven faces look at mine. I'm the one who's viewed all of the memory-crystals and read all of the books that came to the earth in the crystal-ships. Also, as the oldest, I'm the one who best recalls Ul. I gather my thoughts --
Dour, brooding Un mutters, "We're sweating now, but before Mira stops speaking we'll all be cold."
Par shakes his head. "None of us needs ever be cold. Each of you should be carrying a heat-crystal. You know what to do with it."
As each of my seven companions takes a crystal from his pocket or from her purse, I take one out, too. Each of us calls up the strongest, strangest of our gifts, the crystal-shaping gift, and focuses it on his or her crystal. In our hands, eight crystals grow red hot.
Par, setting his crystal onto the ground before him, gives Un an unreadable smile. "You should stay warm now, don't you think?" As dour Un nods, Par turns his gaze to me. "We're ready, Mira. Tell us our story."
Thinking of Ul, I start to speak.
When you opened your eyes at birth on the Homeworld, you first saw sand. To the left and to the right, ahead and behind, bas, as we Tani call sand, lay in all directions from the rocky outcrops where we huddled for shelter. Whenever I read Shelley's line, "The lone and level sands stretch far away," I think of vanished Ul.
Our name for where we lived was ka-bas, 'all-sand,' the Desert. In the Desert, the sand lay not only around us, but also above us. Even at the best of times, Ul's sky had a mustard-colored tinge from fine sand borne on high. At the worst of times, a wind rose, howling around the rocky outcrops and blasting them with sand that brought even noon the night's darkness. We called the wind wis bas, 'wind of sand,' the Sandstorm.
Survival on Ul required some of us -- brave, unlucky souls -- to enter the Desert to seek crystals, metal, and water. Not all who entered the Desert came home. Those of you learning to read the genealogies may've noticed over and over in them the lines wa-tak-il na-ka-bas, 'he died in the Desert,' and wa-tak-il na-wis bas, 'he died in the Sandstorm.' The Homeworld was no place for the weak.
I've said that the Desert lay in all directions from the People's homes, but the Desert was far from being the universe as we Tani saw it. The Desert, in fact, just formed a ring around one face of Ul. Inwards from the ring, the land rose till the air grew too thin to be breathed. Just at the limit of breathability lay a ring of frost that doughty souls called "frost-gatherers" collected and brought home.
Outwards from the ring of Desert in every direction, the land sank till it reached a zone of dense air where violent winds ever swirled. We called this zone nel wis-i, The Wall of Winds. In it lay mists, marshes, and strange, poisonous life that slew unwary travelers. The zone, though it held water and life, held no hope of a home for the Tan. Brave souls, though, went to the Wall of Winds for treasures to be brou
ght to the People. As you've read in the genealogies the words wa-tak-il na-nel wis-i, you know that not all of the brave souls made it home.
What lay beyond the Wall of Winds, none of the Tan knew till Ul's last years.
The light-crystals' glow shows me puzzled looks. Par-On speaks, I think, for the rest of my listeners as he says, "I gather from the memory-crystals and the books that the Homeworld was strange, but I don't see how a world like the one that you just described can exist."
I smile at him. "I can tell you how, if you don't mind a brief astronomy lesson." I sweep my gaze over the others. "It's late, but I know that you can handle this."
I hear moans, but they sound playful to me.